The Clone
by JadedFire
Summary: Kept secret from everyone, Thrawn had planted TWO clones in his fortress. The backup clone awakens six months after the original was destroyed, only to find something had gone horribly wrong with the cloning process and is a female Chiss


A/N: This plot bunny came to me months ago and only recently has I decided to post it here on I warn you this story is a "Chick Fic" and it is intended for those who have reached puberty. For safety's sake I have made the rating PG-13 though there is no hard language, sex, or large amounts of violence.

Secondary Note: This idea came to me months ago, and back then I had wanted it to be a more humorous fanfiction. But now I believe this type of story poses a great question, and it is more serious. Please tell me your thoughts on this idea. Oh, and the reason why I use Thrawn? I'm a Thrawn fan. I would've done the same to any other character, but Thrawn is the only one I am a fangirl of.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing pertaining to SW

**The Clone**

by _JadedFire_

**Chapter One**

Thrawn awakened abruptly, and he was aware he was naked and wet. He felt so strange, and he didn't know his location. What had happened?

He blinked glowing red eyes, trying to see through the great dim, multi-color blur. He had to wait a few seconds for his vision to return to its normal state.

He was inside a Spaarti cloning cyliner, the fluid had been drained, and the thick, sealed, glass lid had opened to allow him to leave the artificial womb.

He recalled he had placed two clones in the fortress, and one was for backup in case one clone died. He was that clone—the backup clone. His plans had been to return to lead his Household Phalanx in ten years, and so far his plan had succeeded. So far.

Something had gone wrong with the cloning process. Muscles were in the wrong areas, and he felt much too small.

He sat up to look at his younger body.

Yes. Something had indeed gone terribly rotten in the process. How such a thing could ever occur no one will ever know.

_She _was no longer a male Chiss.

Her eyes looked numbly with horror upon slender, feminine dark blue hands. They no longer looked powerful, but dainty and petite. Her new breasts were not over large, nor very small, but average. Her waist was tiny, her hips wide for childbirth, and her legs were long and streamlined. Feminine. Petite. All masculinity, all maleness—had been erased.

She hoped for once that it was a nightmare. This was against both all logic_ and_ science. Why should she be female when she was originally a male, and Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo at that? This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, to have her stripped of everything male.

She looked with numb eyes, still partially disbelieving what had happened, into the cloning chamber. She saw the familiar circle of information cubes, the holonews search, and the different crates and furniture which would serve as her living quarters.

She had planned to come to the Chiss after a few days spent recuperating from the clone process. She had planned to contact Voss Parck first and then the Phalanx next and lead them against the threats of the galaxy, which dared move against her people.

She had also planned to wear her template's white uniform, but now it appeared there was a drastic change in size. She would be hidden within the uniform, her height no longer 6'2 but somewhere near 5'3. And none of the clothes her clone template had packed would fit, of course. This posed quite a problem.

She stood up on wobbly legs, still too weak to do any strenuous activities. After all, it had been the first time in years since she had walked on them.

She didn't want to remain_ au naturel_, though it appeared she would have to remain so until she could find something even remotely wearable.

She made her way to the first crate of clothing, looking for a certain black silk bathrobe that had reached down to her template's knees. It had been comfortably tight and clingy; rippling muscles had shown through the shimmering material.

She was feeling more tired by the minute as she dug through it in her attempts to find the bathrobe. Not wanting to overtax herself, she stopped and rested upon a black sofa with extra soft cushions. Her body sank comfortably into the sofa, and she leaned her head back, one arm upon the curving armrest.

She closed her eyes, breathing slow and deep. Her heart was pounding in her chest and for the moment she thought she would pass out. The little spell went away as quickly as it had come, but she continued to lean back against the sofa, closing her slanting feline eyes.

She entered into something between wake and sleeping, not really sleeping nor truly awake. She remained this way for only a little while before resuming her task of searching for the certain article of clothing.

She knew it would be a little too big for her, but not so much as everything else she "remembered" packing to wear later on.

She found it buried beneath just about everything in the crate, and hurriedly slipped it on. It was a bit oversized, but it would do. She felt better now that she was somewhat properly clad.

Now she had to find something to eat. Her stomach was rumbling something fierce.

She opened up the sealed container of rations, ravenously eating her fill, more inhaling the food than eating it. Normally she took (or her template had taken) small bites, chewing thoroughly, and sipping Forvish ale or other beverage politely in between bites.

She was ravenously hungry, however, and it took her a moment to resume a more polite way of eating.

She drank some of the ale "she" had packed away, and afterwards put everything back up in its proper container. Feeling much better in a physical sense, (still feeling numb in that she was no longer a man) she relaxed herself to better digest the food.

As she did so, problems came in her head. She knew she would have to contact Voss Parck soon…

Another wave of dizziness came upon her, her stomach newly filled churning with nausea.

She held back a moan and lowered herself onto the sofa, waiting for the spell to abate for the moment.

She wasn't in any shape to see anyone at the moment. And she was reluctant to go up to "her" oldtime friend in this form and clothing.

And who would ever believe her in that she was the clone of Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo and she carried his mind and his memories?

_What was a blessing is now a curse. I would much rather had awakened into a new world without memories of another life,_ she thought.

She could still lead her people in battle against the threats of the Unknown Regions, but there would be a lot more trials and hardships than ever before.

"And one of them is the fact I know nothing about being a woman," she whispered aloud. It was sadly true— Mitth'raw'nuruodo had been too busy preparing the Empire of the Hand against invasion and conquering worlds to study the female mind and anatomy.

And the clone knew it was probably one of the greatest mistakes Thrawn had ever made.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

Retired Imperial Captain, Voss Parck, looked at the report Stent had filed up for him concerning the flooded chamber a Chiss scout had come across.

It had been six months since Mara Jade and Luke Skywalker had entered the fortress, and in that time…

His lips set in a hard, grim line. It seemed all the dreams of Thrawn's Expansionary Fleet had come to a full halt. They could still achieve victory, but without Thrawn on their side it would be much more difficult.

The DNA of the decayed body floating in the chamber had matched Thrawn exactly, and only now were the Chiss coming together to make a fast funeral over the death of their leader.

Parck knew it would have been better to had never known.

But now it was too late.

And the hope of the Chiss Expansionary Fleet was running out.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Chorv'elk'ornou kept his sorrow to himself as he stared at the casket in the middle of a large conregation of Chiss in the Morokk forest. The body had looked so bad the lid of the casket had been shut the whole time, allowing them the priveledge of mourning without seeing something which looked nothing like Mitth'raw'nuruodo.

The Chiss were not known to show their emotions in public, but he could see it was increasingly difficult for those who had known Mitth'raw'nuruodo and had talked to him face to face.

The Aristocra, Chaf'orm'bintrano, was having a hard time of it, since Thrawn had been his closest friend.

Chorv'elk'ornou felt his throat closing, though he had never seen the tactical genius before in his life. The sorrow, though not shown on Chiss faces, was enough to darken the atmosphere. Everything appeared bleak now. He knew there was still hope for the fleet, but now that Thrawn was gone—

_I will not think of it,_ he told himself sternly.

He focused his attention on Voss Parck, who was giving a short speech describing how he met Thrawn and how he had admired the Chiss for his tactical brilliance and for his stunning victories.

Everyone then saluted the casket, and those who had served under Thrawn ceremonially fired their charrics or blasters.

Chorv'elk'ornou watched with sorrow as the casket was lowered into the ground.


End file.
